Mind Game (GhostWalkers, #2)(63)

Nicolas waited until two men went past him before sliding silently to the floor, replacing the Beretta with this knife. He made his way along the hall, keeping behind the two men leading the way for him, his footfalls exactly matching theirs. The lead man shoved open a door on the left and instantly Nicolas smelled blood. The scent was overpowering, sickly sweet. Worse was the smell of infection. Like the ghost he was, he moved up directly behind the man closest to him and caught him around the neck with a thick arm, the knife slicing deep.

Nicolas felt the surge of power as Jesse Calhoun tried to keep the first guard’s attention as he came toward the bed. Nicolas lowered the body to the floor and stalked after the lead guard. The man already had his knife out as he approached the wounded NCIS agent. Nicolas was on him before he could reach Jesse, dropping him to the floor without caring too much about the noise.

“Nicolas Trevane,” he greeted, watching Calhoun closely for signs of awareness. The GhostWalker program had been small.

“I know who you are,” Calhoun responded. His voice was a thread of sound. The very act of speaking seemed too much for him. “Get Dahlia clear. They can’t get their hands on her.”

Nicolas waved him to silence. He could feel Dahlia’s presence, although he’d told her to stay as far from the house as she could so that any violence taking place would be dispersed naturally before he ever called her in. He waited in the darkness, afraid for her, wondering if she was ill, while only a few feet from him Jesse Calhoun lay dying. He heard Gregson call out to his men just as a hail of bullets cut through the wall. He threw himself onto the floor and reached up to drag Calhoun off the bed.

The NCIS agent was a dead weight, already unconscious when he hit the floor. Nicolas pulled the mattress down to provide a little more cover for the wounded man as the bullets tore great gouges out of the wall behind him. He retreated to the window. The glass had been broken out by bullets, leaving behind jagged shards hanging in the frame. He broke the remaining glass out with the butt of his gun and slipped out to gain the roof. He found himself directly over Murphy’s head. The guard was leaning down, trying to get a sight into the house.

Nicolas stilled, aware of the seconds ticking by. Seconds Jesse Calhoun didn’t have. He leapt out of the darkness, giving Murphy no time to fire off his weapon, his knife finding the target, and slipping away, back into the shadows to stalk Paulie.

The bullet came out of the night, clipping his shoulder, removing material, skin, and hair as it slid past, burning as it kissed him. He was spun around, but went with the momentum, allowing it to carry him over the roof to the deck below. He landed on his feet in a crouch and rolled across the expanse of flooring to gain the series of planters and the relative cover they provided.

“We’ve got her cornered, Paulie,” Gregson shouted. “She’s on the deck.”

Nicolas crawled backward until his boots touched the railing. GhostWalkers preferred high ground, but he’d take low if it was all that was available to him.

“It isn’t the woman, Gregson,” Paulie informed his boss. “Too big. I think I winged him though. Give me a minute to get into position and we’ll end it.”

Nicolas slid over the railing, coming to ground just below the deck. He traveled the same path the guard had walked, moving around the exterior of the house until he had gained a position close to where Gregson’s voice had come. He waited, counting the seconds, sending a subtle push toward the man to speak again.

It was in Gregson’s nature to control a situation, and the push found contact. “Drive him toward me, Paulie.”

It was all Nicolas needed, that single sentence to give him the exact location. He drew and fired in one smooth motion, going for the kill. He immediately moved, hurrying along the path to the corner.

“I knew he’d open his big mouth,” Paulie’s voice came from a few feet away and down low as if he were lying on the ground. “And I knew you’d nail him.”

Nicolas froze, trying to discern the guard’s precise location. Heat flared all around him, the temperature rising fast. Orange-red fireballs streaked through the sky, arcing along the river and dropping to the earth to blast into the ground. Nicolas threw himself flat, rolling to fire off three shots in Paulie’s direction. The ground shook with the force of the fireballs as they slammed into earth. He heard Paulie grunt, the sound a good distance from where he’d been.

Nicolas closed his eyes and sent his mind seeking until he found the target. Paulie was crawling toward him, wincing away from the fire raining down from the sky. Nicolas tracked him, first with his mind, then with his gun. He took aim and squeezed the trigger.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


“He’s dying, Nicolas.” Dahlia staggered toward the man lying unmoving on the floor. “Jesse.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “I can’t lose you too. Don’t do this.” Crouching beside him, she caught his hand, held it tightly, and looked up at Nicolas. “Do something.” Dahlia had never seen anything resembling the raw flesh that passed for the lower half of both of Jesse’s legs. She could see bones and muscles and there was so much blood. Too much blood. He had burn marks on his chest and several cuts, but it was the horror of his mangled legs that made her terrified for him.

“I’ve called for an ambulance, Dahlia, and the NCIS has agents coming as well. Lily’s contacted them, and they’ll be here in a few minutes.” Nicolas couldn’t look at her. She was as white as a sheet, her eyes too large for her face. Her body trembled under the strain of the aftermath of so many deaths. She’d already been sick once, and he could see her fighting for breath. She was soaking wet and streaked with mud from traveling along the river’s edge. He had no idea how she managed to get to him, lugging his pack along with her. The pack weighed as she much as she did, but she was there, her eyes filling with tears and tearing out his heart. There wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it either. “We can’t be here when they come.”